CHAPTER TEN

TEN
The concept of face time is a euphemism for
ego gratification. I am convinced of that. It is all about
one person finding out if it is possible to get another
person to take the time to attend a meeting. What is
so reassuring about conveying information in person,
especially in this age of electronic communication?
The check clearing the bank should be all the
reassurance anyone needs.

I went to the meeting at the offices of Coyle
and Marcant at three p.m. and learned nothing new.
However, I came up with an idea that appears to be
worth pursuing, so maybe the meeting will pay off for
the show.
The first six weeks of the ad campaign for
Pretty Lady were laid out for my approval. Everything
was sweet and Art Deco influenced, to reflect the
original. In other words, it was the same old same old.
Everything in the agency’s presentation also
could have been transmitted through email. My
computer is attached to a large flat screen TV. I could
have stayed home and seen the layouts on the same
large screen format on which they were presented in
the office. The same format, by the way, in which I am
confronted by the intrusive hacker’s messages.
The proposed spending of the advertising
budget appeared on the screen. One item leapt out at me.
“No. Absolutely not. Spending that much money in the Times is a waste. I won’t have it.”
As soon as it came out of my mouth, I knew someone would counter in a tone that was patient yet knowing; and I knew that someone would be Terri Coyle.
“Gus, you have to be in the Times,” said Terri, the agency’s co-founder.
“I’m not saying we won’t have a presence in the Times. We’ll be listed in the daily ABCs. That and a quarter page on Sundays for the first two weeks after opening night will be more than sufficient. If we have a hit, we’ll revisit it in time for the Tonys.”
“I’ve always thought of you as more of a traditionalist than this, Gus.”
“I’m traditional in that wasting money bothers me. Time Out sells more tickets. Nowadays the only people who purchase the dead tree version of the Sunday Times are people who live here. Everyone else reads it on line, if they read it at all. A small percentage of local Times readers go to see shows. That’s a sad fact but it’s still a fact. Tourists, our biggest audience share, don’t see these wonderfully artistic and horrifically expensive advertisements if they’re in the Times. They do see them in Time Out because it’s free in every hotel room in the city.
“You’ll recall that we did an early announcement ad campaign for the show when rehearsals began. I suggested an informal test at that time. We ran a double page spread in the Sunday Times Arts & Leisure section, at a cost of tens of thousand of dollars. A week later we ran a double page spread in Time Out for substantially less. I’m surprised that I have to remind you that our weekly wrap was three times as large in the week following the Time Out spread.”
“That was hardly a statistical analysis we did, Gus,” said Terri.
“Gus, maybe a compromise?” Patti suggested.
“Patti, quarter pages are a compromise. As far as I’m concerned being in the ABCs every day is sufficient, and even the efficacy of that is questionable,” I said. “Could we move on, please? What else is there to cover?”
The impatience was evident in my voice. Impatience is a daylight thing with me. At night I am much more at ease with the pace of human endeavor. Why would I not be? I have forever, after all. During daylight hours, even with the shades drawn and my sunglasses on, I feel heavy and slow and I am impatient for sunset.
“You’re mounting this show east of Broadway,” said Terri. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
An idea flashed into my mind fully developed.
“That’s it!”
I snapped my fingers and stood and began to pace as I spoke.
“Let’s do a supplemental section in Time Out. Maybe we can include it elsewhere, too. We can title it Pretty Lady and the East of Broadway Curse, or something like that. We’ll make a pamphlet out of it and can include an article on the idea that shows produced east of Broadway are doomed to fail. We’ll also include a history of Pretty Lady, and a history of the Belasco – play up the ghost angle. Put in a biographical sketch of David.”
I caught the puzzled looks on the others’ faces.
“David Belasco. We’re doing the show in the Belasco Theater, remember? Make it small and colorful, like a guide. Include all Belasco’s professional accomplishments, of course. And the whole Bishop of Broadway business – people will eat it up. Maybe we can do some kind of photo shoot in his old apartment above the theater. The caption could say ‘Does the ghost still live here?’”
The young people in the room looked back at me like I was speaking a language from another galaxy.
“Gus, that’s brilliant,” said Terri. “We can design it not only as an insert but as a stand alone publication that Time Out can put in the hands of concierges around town. We’ll make a placement deal with the magazine to deliver them for as long as we decide we want.”
“The tourists will come to see the ghost as much as the show,” said Patti.
“They’ll come to look for the ghost and see a great show,” I said, and made a mental note to up the ante a bit on haunting the theater once the show was open.
“We’ll include a special page on the website,” said Stephen, the first of Terri’s young account executives to speak.
“Of course we will. And this should help generate all sorts of press coverage, too,” Terri added. “It’s bound to become a collectible.”
Ideas for various angles of this new campaign began cascading into the room. My only concern at that moment was the absence of our marketing director. He was going to be very unhappy to have missed this meeting, as the advertising supplement was becoming a full blown marketing strategy. He was busy today auditioning for a reality television show about weight loss, so my sympathy for him was limited at best.
With four weeks of previews ahead of us, the timing seemed about right for this idea. It amused me to think that both the ad agency and the marketing director soon would be vying to claim credit for something that I proposed, if it worked. In the theater, it seems the producer only gets credit when a show flops.
“So something good came out of our meeting after all,” I said by way of wrapping up and getting ready to leave.
I stood. Terri got to her feet, and the others in the conference room did the same, except Patti, who started shuffling papers off the table and into her shoulder bag.
“Terri, you’ll let Patti know as soon as you’ve got something for me to look at, right?”
“You know I will.”
She rounded the table and came to me and took my hand in both of hers and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“I wish all our clients had your natural inclinations. We’re going to take that notion of yours and make it a reality. You’ll love it.”
There it was. Terri was claiming credit for the supplement and letting me know right up front.
“I’m sure you’ll do a brilliant job,” I said.
I left without another word and took the elevator to the lobby and exited the building. Patti, I’m sure, made my apologies, and in any case I’m known as something of an eccentric.
I made a beeline for the nearest subway entrance and went deep into the underground system. I felt my powers returning underground and the further away from natural light that I went.
I did a quick flit into the tunnel beyond the end of platform for the downtown 1, 2 and 3 trains. I espied an inviting spot above the tracks where I could hang upside down and grab a nap until nightfall. I was exhausted but the darkness and the depth below earth restored my powers enough to make the leap to this makeshift perch. My sleep was dreamless.
Two hours later I made my way up into the grand spectacle of light that is Times Square under corporate control. Signs blazing with light touted TV shows, Japanese corporations, cars and cameras. Everything, it seemed, but theater. I walked north along Broadway to enjoy the effulgence, and the absence of automobile traffic for a too few short blocks. As often happens these days, I wondered what was next for me.